Consternation
by S.N. Rainsworth
Summary: Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you're scared to death. The key to change was letting go of your fear; but they couldn't help it, because their fears were irrational and yet it fueled the reason why they were still moving on. Drabbles.
1. Part I

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_.A t y c h i p h o b i a. _

_._

_._

_The irrational fear of failure. _

_. _

_._

Edward Elric was not a quitter. He was not. He stood headstrong and as still as a rock, he took everything that came with in his path with stride. He was the one who stood up by himself when he had nothing to stand on and only one leg and arm to do it on. So Edward Elric did not pride himself in _loosing._

The things he did pride himself in: his younger brother. That was the only thing he really felt pride in nowadays, not because he was the Fullmetal Alchemist, not because he had gotten in when he was twelve, not because he was a child genius. More because his little brother finally accomplished something that the younger had been working on for a good amount of time.

Sometimes, though, he always felt an irrational feeling, that when he looked _up_ at Alphonse - _when he was supposed to looking down -_ that he would never see that younger version of his face with his mother's green eyes and childish smile ever again. That was what scared him the most, never being able to get his brother's body back.

When he slept, his mind traveled to blood and large circles and elements; Water. Carbon. Oxygen. Hydrogen. Ammonia. Lime. Saltpeter. Salt. Phosphorus. Niter. Sulfur. Iron. Silicon. To bloody and bony and twisted messes, of bodies that were corrupted until they created monsters. His mother, reaching toward him, except it _wasn't _his mother. It wasn't...it couldn't...because then he killed his mother.

He hated that feeling, the feeling that everything he had done was gone in waste. It was his fault in the first place, yes, his own utter sheer stupidity that he thought that he could bring back the dead. But still...his own arrogance cost him twenty-five percent of his body. He felt so much like..._a failure._

He didn't really deserve all that life had been giving him since then, that's what he felt. He should have been in hell right now, but his little brother needed him. That's why he came back - _more that thrown back -_ and he also had a sneaking suspicion, that this 'God' or 'Truth' hadn't take a good liking to him. He knew that was a bad thing, that the obviously more powerful being would surely punish him by making the murky path to his future hard, painful, and very foggy. But it was still the path he was going to follow, because it was the only one he _could _follow.

Edward Elric sighed, and shut close his State Alchemist pocket watch. He looked up at the shining suit of armor beside him and gave a timid smile, one that was also encouraging with a hint of sadness.

"Come on, Al."

He turned around, facing the large plains of green and yellow, and started to walk on the set railroad tracks underneath his feet. He held his suitcase on his back with his hand on the handle, while the sun shone of his cornsilk hair.

"Alright, Brother."

Alphonse's voice vibrated through his bones, and his eyes hardened involuntarily. To Truth, this was all a game that he had entered willingly. Each of Alphonse's steps, every clank of armor reminded him that he was moving forward toward the end which didn't exist.

But he was not going to lose.

.

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	2. Part II

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_.S c o t o p h o b i a. _

_._

_._

_The irrational fear of the dark._

_. _

_._

Alphonse Elric shivered under his covers. It was raining hard outside, the tiny droplets of water making soft, pitter-patter sounds against the windowsills and harsh winds sending tree branches to hit against the panes. He huddled his blanket closer to himself, trying to reserve as much body heat as he could.

A large thunder hit the sky outside, and Alphonse jumped with it, causing his blanket to tangle with his legs and his arms bare to the cold wind. He sat up, and rubbed his eyes, looking over to his older brother -

When he found that he couldn't _see_ his older brother.

In fact, he couldn't see _anything._

Looking around, everything was pitch black. It engulfed him, swarmed him, and he felt oddly cold. Like, cold as in someone pushed him into the river down the hill during winter and left him there in the middle of the night, a chill that seeped past his skin and touched his bones.

He did the only logical thing his mind would tell him; he ran.

He ran. And he kept running. And running. He run so much he could feel his lungs bleeding, his legs aching and begging him to stop. His body wanted to defy him; it wanted him to stay and rest, to lie down and never get up again with each shallow breath he took in.

He almost complied.

But Alphonse felt something take him over, something stop him. It made him feel like a block of ice, seeing as how cold he already was. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't do anything but watch.

And he kept thinking, _what's happening to me? Am I going insane?_

Because it was scaring him, so much. The place with no walls, no ceilings, no doors, no beginnings, no endings, and most importantly, _no way out._

And so, he did the first thing he thought of, purely on instinct.

_"Big brother!"_

_._

_._

_Even when our eyes are closed, there's a whole world out there that lives outside ourselves and our dreams._

_._

_._

Edward stared at his younger brother in surprise. He woke up immediately after hearing a bloodcurdling scream in the form of his name; to find his younger brother Alphonse latching on to him with such vigor it knocked him back on the bed.

"Ow, Al..." he whined childishly. But he stopped short after seeing that Alphonse was visibly _shaking_, trembling as if he was outside in the rain and not inside with Ed and their silent house. Then, after a moment, he heard the soft sobs, and a wetness on his chest.

"Al..." he started off hesitantly. Alphonse never got nightmares, and when he did, it was never this severe. Whatever he saw must have killed him in there. Edward sighed and sat up, wincing when Alphonse's grip became tighter on his shirt. He succeeded in sitting up, then awkwardly hugged his little brother like he'd seen his mom do before she died.

He didn't know what to say, because really, Al had never depended on him like this. It made him scared, scared to think of what could shake his little brother so badly.

He placed a hesitant hand on Alphonse's head, stroking it slightly and remembering what his mother did to him for nightmares.

"It was everywhere!" he heard Alphonse cry. It was so loud, and he jumped slightly as his wails became louder. "Brother, it was all so dark! I couldn't see anything! It was so cold..." He felt Alphonse shiver, and Edward felt at a loss for a moment before brightening up with an idea.

Edward pried his little brother off his shirt, to face with watery green eyes. He smiled kindly, "How 'bout you sleep with me tonight, Al?"

Alphonse's eyes widened, "Really?" He wasn't able to sleep with Edward since their smaller, childhood days, due to being 'big boys' now, even though he missed it. Edward nodded, and Al looked down, with a soft 'okay'.

In the morning, Alphonse Elric didn't let go of Edward Elric's hand for a whole week.

.

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	3. Part III

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_.A t e l o p h o b i a. _

_._

_._

_The irrational fear of imperfection. _

_._

_._

Colonel Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, gasped heavily, dropping next to his subordinate and good friend, Jean Havoc. Havoc was unconscious, bleeding heavily on his lower left side. A side of his face was bleeding heavily. His Commanding Officer, Brigadier General Roy Mustang, was looking over from the side of his head grimly. There was Major Hawkeye to the side, holding her pistol steadily in petite hands although they were at a temporary base camp with other soldiers around them.

"Can you do it, Fullmetal?" Roy choked out, coughing from the smoke of his flames lingering in the air. Edward would have blown up at Mustang for distrusting his abilities, but now was not the time. Old texts and information was passing through his head, making sense of them as he inspected the bullet wound with a dirtied, gloved, hand. Edward grimaced. He looked up, into the face of anxious soldiers.

"You guys sure you don't have doctor?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, I could do it, but someone experienced - "

"No, we regrettably don't sir. The main base camp is a good four miles away." Hawkeye curtly replied, her eyes showing worry and anxiety. Edward pressed his lips together, nodding. He stood up, straightening out his posture.

He sharply turned to a young, brown-haired soldier, who jumped in place. "You, Avery." Avery performed a nervous salute. "Go get me the first aid kit. ASAP." The soldier ran away with his tail between his legs. "Falman!" he barked suddenly. The gray and black haired man stood at attention, used to Edward's commands. "Go get anesthetic and some alcohol. Cloth, bandages, a scalpel. Surely we have a medical room if there _used _to be a doctor here. Make sure they're clean." Edward's voice turned slightly hoarse at the thought of the dead doctor that died in a shooting, but shook it off.

Edward turned to Roy and sighed. Both men looked incredibly tired, and Mustang rubbed an eye with his transmutation gloved hand. He took a glance at the younger, blonder man.

"Fullmetal?" he asked quietly. Edward knew what his Commanding Officer was talking about. Could he do it? He didn't know. His stomach was all full of butterflies, and he thought cryptically, _was this how Winry felt when she was delivering that baby?_ But he focused on the necessities. When they were younger, Winry's parents may have been the doctors, but she couldn't read properly for the longest time. So Edward had to read to her and Alphonse, and he had subconsciously (or maybe not) gathered the information in his photographic brain and kept it there. But also, he had studied medical alchemy and the human body when they were planning the Unforgivable, and after that to how to get his body back and different things from the Philosopher's Stone, and also from when he was simply bored. So, all in all, he had a pretty impressive knowledge of medical treatments, plus the extra knowledge from the Gate helped. Still, he was so unsure of himself.

"I don't know, sir." he replied tiredly. Edward wouldn't have added the respect at the end, but Mustang was still his superior, in the end. He would be damned if now wasn't the time to treat him like one. "I probably could, and there is a very high chance he will survive. But he will be out for a few weeks; his spine has just been fixed from last time, so he would take some time to recover, although the bullet hit no vital organs. Two or three weeks, at most."

Roy Mustang sighed in relif; his subordinate and friend wouldn't be that harmed. But he stole a look at Edward, and the force of what he just said and how he said it just hit him. Edward sounded very official, much more like a doctor than a military officer. Even though sounding like both scared him.

"Fullmetal," Roy started, regaining his commanding persona. "Tell me your medical expertise." Edward turned sharply toward him, eyes wide in confusion.

"What - "

"_Now._"

Edward pursed his lips when he saw how serious Mustang was, how this was so important to him. Hughes died, and although Havoc would live, it was still a major blow.

"I've treated many of my own injuries, including impalement, illness, broken bones, and once a delivered baby." Well, the last part was a _little _fib, but Mustang needed to trust him to do this. He was the only one who could. He could see the surprise in Mustang's eyes, and the man actually stared open-mouthed in shock, which caused him to go red with embarrassment.

"_You delivered a baby?_"

"Shut up, you - "

"Colonel, sir!"

Edward turned around to see Avery and Falman, and his eyes hardened. He took a deep breath and starting commanding orders, clapping his hands once to clean himself and his gloves off. He turned to Havoc, who was on a spare bed breathing heavily. There was a crudely tied bandage over the bullet wound; Edward didn't so much wince when he took off the blonde man's jacket to see the damage done. He took off his own military jacket, feeling it weighing him down.

He took a deep breath, and hardened his resolve.

He would not fail, because he _couldn't _fail. He had to get that bullet out before Havoc bled to death, and he would _do it right._ Alchemy, Medicine, they both needed perfection. Because if something was out of line, there would be a serious rebound; someone could die, someone could get hurt. And that was what made him afraid, what made him decide that after this he would study a bit more on the topic, that way he wouldn't be so hesitant the next time something like this happened. That way, nothing would be out of place and that person would be saved and he wouldn't get any mistakes done.

His friend _couldn't _die, he _wouldn't _die, if everything was absolutely perfect.

.

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	4. Part IV

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_.H y p n o p h o b i a. _

_._

_._

_The irrational fear of sleep._

_._

_._

It was true that Alphonse was not fond of his armored body. He wasn't able to eat, no matter how much the food in front of him looked so _delicious _or _appetizing._ He wasn't able to feel, no matter if it was the wind brushing against his skin or being impaled through the stomach (like his brother.) And one more thing; he couldn't sleep.

He hated the last one the most, because without any sleep, it just reminded him of his big body. Of the cold, unfeeling, metal. Of each creak and heavy gaunt of his steps, Of being able to be taken apart and put back together again with no problem at all. It reminded him that he was _abnormal,_ that he was a stranger, a sinner, an outsider. And what he hated the most - what he hated out of all of the downfalls was the fact that_ he couldn't dream anymore._

His sleep was always filled with sweet things when he was younger, filled with happiness, laughter, and warmth, just like their lives had been. He never had a bad dream, because dreams were always good and fulfilling, because dreams took him to a world that he couldn't imagine and he could. It was, in it's complexity, another thing he loved so dearly in his childhood; next to his brother, mother, and alchemy.

But now, he supposed, he could never dream anymore.

Because his mind was always haunted; it was always littered and drawn with the images of his past. He had looked, on many occasions, at his brother's troubled face while he was sleeping; even when Edward was unconscious, his mind was always filled with the pictures of death, blood, gore, and sins. It was never something sweet, not anymore.

It caused his older brother's face to screw together, eyebrows furrowing and lips tightly pressed. Sometimes he would whimper, sometimes scream and thrash. And Alphonse could do nothing,_ nothing, _because he had no idea what it felt like. Edward always cried silently afterward; it was a sight only Alphonse (and sometimes Winry) got the sight to see.

Seeing Edward like that, moonlight illuminating his pale, withdrawn, face, made him scared. It made him scared, because his older brother was the reason he himself was standing, so if Edward crumbled then so would he.

And he remembered, he remembered what Teacher had always told them: _What hurts us in reality kills us in our dreams. _

Alphonse realized this statement was wrong. It was wrong because nothing could kill you in your dream. Dreams were your sole escape, they were your oasis from the stress of reality. But this was not a dream.

This was a nightmare.

This was a nightmare, because what he and Edward saw were not escaping from reality; they were trapping themselves _into _reality. They forced you remember, to know that _you _did this, _you _were the cause of this, this was _all your fault._

Alphonse was glad, in a way, that he couldn't sleep. He was afraid, he was scared. He didn't want to see those images, see what he had done. Those things, those memories that overshadowed the good, they would always stay that way. Those memories would never leave him. It was stick in his head, it would haunt him and shame him and make him cry. Because they were always going to lurk in the darkest corners of his mind, they were always going to creep up until they were ready to attack.

Because he didn't know, he had no idea at all - if he could take facing reality in his sleep.

.

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	5. Part V

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_.H e m o p h o b i a. _

_._

_. _

_The irrational fear of blood. _

_._

_. _

_This chapter is specially dedicated to _starfmalover_. Thank you for your kinds review and the invective to write another chapter in the same day. :)_

_._

_._

Edward Elric loved the color red.

It was no secret that the blonde's most worn color was also his favorite. His coat was red; his boots had red; his heart was red; his spirit was red; his hands were red.

They were all _tainted._

He loved the color because it was bright, it was burning, it was eye-catching. It made him stand out from the rest, and that's exactly what he wanted. He wanted to be different. Because he felt like he deserved to be different. Because he was the one who ruined his own life, and people didn't need to be around him. Everywhere he walked, everyone he spoke to, it was almost as if they were writing out their death wish.

Because he was misery.

Because he was death.

Because he was blood.

And even though he didn't know it, people always said that red was his color. Because it was so bright; like him. It was so burning; like his eyes. It was so mesmerizing; like his future.

It was the color of his failure, it was the color that splashed all over his face and caused his brother to die and his mother to die and him to die. It broke every piece of his heart, because his heart was red itself, the color of eternal taint. It slowly took him away, because it was the color of insanity, it was the color of his life.

Red.

The color of blood.

Blood itself was essentially a mixture of liquid fissures (iron, copper, some other trace amounts of metal,) and cells. It carried oxygen throughout the arteries and was one of the most vital functions of the human body, next to the heart, the lungs, and the brain.

Blood was also the sign of hell.

Because blood was the thing that he saw, everyday of his life, it flowed from his veins and from other people, and from all the _pain _and _suffering _and _cries_ and _desperate death wishes - _

The color of war.

It killed, blood was the signal of something that finally died. Something, that when blood no longer flowed through your veins and was pumped from your heart and sent to your organs - _that meant you were dead. _

But it also meant that he was breathing, that this beautifully horrible fluid was running through him, keeping him breathing, keeping him alive, that his heart accelerated whenever trouble came his way and slowed down when he was resting and sent messages that the fiery personality was still bursting in him. It still reminded him that he was human, that humans made mistakes, that he was imperfect and always would be, and he didn't need to change that. It reminded him of what he was loosing, how every beat send him a second in time, closer to his death, closer to the day his heart would stop and beat no more.

That's why he loved the color red. Not because it was a 'tough guy color that got to blood boiling', but because it made his heart freeze, it made his brain think, it made his mind _understand._ It was the complete paradox of his life, it created death and pain and agony, and it created life and warmth and made him breathe.

And he thought, that was why he loved the color red.

And why he _absolutely fucking despised it._

Red took away everything; it reminded him that his own veins were not the same as his brother's, who did not have a body. Who was a cold, unfeeling metal armor. Every time he bled in a fight, every time he felt agonizing pain, he always felt guilty and relived. At least Alphonse wouldn't have to feel this. But then again, Alphonse couldn't feel _anything._

Red was the opposite of calm. It was the opposite of his life.

He hated it and he loved it, because it reminded him how scared he was of the blood running through his veins because _he was alive when he shouldn't be. _

He had cheated death so many times, he got lucky so many times, how much longer was it going to hold out? Things like this didn't happen to people like him, because people like him had to create their own paths because they strayed from the one they were supposed to follow. _He was supposed to die a long time ago._

And that was another thing that made him truly afraid, because the blood in his veins should have stopped a long time ago, yet they still beat in a condescending rhythm, reminding him every waking moment of what was supposed to be.

.

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	6. Part VI

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_.S p e c t r o p h o b i a. _

_. _

_. _

_The irrational fear of mirrors or of one's own relfection._

_._

_._

Edward Elric was in Colonel Mustang's office, simply waiting for the dark-haired man to finish up whatever the hell he was doing - because he particularly didn't care. On some table farther off, there was Mustang's office workers, Havoc, Hawkeye, Falman, Breda, and Fuery in particular. He didn't mind them, because his mind was buzzing with other things far more important.

He sat on the leather couch with one leg on top of the other, arms encased in a startlingly bright red coat folded lazily against his chest. He was staring all around, not paying attention, golden eyes scanning the familiar room and lips molded into a frown. His long, blonde plait was thrown across his shoulder.

"Fullmetal? Are you listening to me?" From the corner of his mind, Edward nodded. He heard Mustang continue, but his mind was on the window, and how sunny it was outside.

Compared what this day really meant to him.

_October 3rd, 1914. _

Edward winced slightly as the date reminded itself in his mind. He stared at the transparent reflection of himself on the wall, and thought of how this was his Superior's office, how he was now giving in a report of a city he had saved - and destroyed - _how he didn't belong here -_

And all the images flashed through his mind, his golden eyes widening when one the wall, shown on the window...

It showed a dark, dark sky with pelting rain. There was a tree branch slamming against the window panel, and Edward envisioned Alphonse's face, pleading, begging, wide-eyed and bloody -

His throat constricted and he couldn't breathe.

"Fullmetal? Are...are you okay?"

He couldn't hear, he couldn't see anything but the images of the Unforgivable, like one of those new movie pictures. Then he saw the automail surgery, then the recovery, all the blood he vomited and his Teacher's stern face, and the Truth's cruel grin -

They were shaking him now, but he couldn't find himself to care.

"Chief? Chief! Damn, why is he lookin' at the window?"

Then he saw his little brother's face, how it looked devastated, then it changed. It morphed slowly, deliberately, into a metal armor head with a long single strand of hair, and soul-full eyes and an empty body, nothing but cold, unfeeling metal -

And he screamed.

He screamed so loud, that all the officers crowding him jumped back, including Hawkeye. Edward scrambled back, eyes wide and clouded, he folded his arms around his legs and held them close, mumbling.

"Get it away, get it away...I want it gone...please...please...stop it..."

Mustang was speechless. He had never seen Edward this way, and it was scary. He looked like such a small child, right there and then, scrambled up and shivering, mumbling insecurities when he had been cool and calm and collection just a moment before. It was...frightening. What had set him off, what had terrified the indestructible Fullmetal Alchemist off so badly?

Then Hawkeye reminded them of the date.

.

.

_I can never look at myself._

_._

_Why?_

_._

_Because I fear a monster will look back at me. _

_._

_._

Edward could never look at himself on this day.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn't find himself to stare for more than a few seconds. Before the image was morphed into something disgusting and twisted, and before Alphonse would show up, shaken, then in a metal suit, with no expression on his face. Then it would keep changing, it kept shifting, to his failure. To darkness. To blood. To fire, to burning. To hell. To the Truth.

And it scared him.

When memories that weren't his flooded into his mind, and engulfed him, when it binded him with a white-hot pain and an iron grip, when it all flooded back and made him scream and thrash and yell for it all to just _stop, stop, stop stop stopstopstopstop - _

And it simply wouldn't, it would just grin and go on.

He could never look at himself, because he would see a deformed being with a handsome face and golden hair and golden eyes and the features of an angel, and a body of twenty-five percent metal and scarred and impaled and bleeding. Because then behind him, was Alphonse, in his metal armor, standing over him like a protector when _he _was the one that needed protecting from his big brother.

Because on this day, - _October 3rd, 1914 -_ it was his worst nightmare, and this particular nightmare turned into reality and haunted him in every waking moment, following him like a shadow. Because it added another burden to his shoulders, because it made the watch in his pocket a whole pound heavier. Mirrors, puddles, anything that would show him his face and shame his and make a mockery out of him, and give him misery _because all he could see was the sick grin on Truth's face, devastating him -_

Because he didn't dare see himself on this day.

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	7. Part VII

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_.N o s o c o m e p h o b i a. _

_._

_._

_The irrational and excessive fear of hospitals. _

_._

_._

Alphonse Elric wasn't one to be over excessive. He preferred the more humbler, simpler, things in life. It was always his brother that showered him with things, things that he didn't want and (secretly sometimes he did. Because he liked when his brother only payed attention to _him._)

These wasn't those times.

It was true, Alphonse always knew it. He tried so hard; he became as generous as he possibly could be. He gave anything, always tried to humble and selfless. But the truth, Alphonse knew, was a whole different story.

He was practically as selfish as hell.

He had mastered the art of generosity, hoping to get rid of this monstrosity inside him. And for the most part, _it worked._ But there was always one thing that always made him selfish, always made him greedy, because he _just couldn't help himself._ He always wanted to be near his brother, his mother, because they were _his _family, and nothing was going to take them away from him.

Honestly, that was the only reason he went along with Edward's plan: to get his mother back.

To bring her, living, breathing, happy, with his brother, all with him forever. But his mother was lost; and almost his brother was too. But Edward was selfish too; he didn't want Alphonse to leave without him, and Alphonse didn't want Edward to leave without him. That was why he stayed by his older brother's side; because he never wanted to leave Edward's sight. He wanted to feel protected, loved, and that was what Edward gave him. He wasn't going to let it go, because it was the only thing he ever allowed himself to feel, the only time he let into his avarice.

He wanted his body back so badly; not because to sleep, eat, or feel pain. He wanted it back because he wanted to feel his brother's warm hugs again, he wanted to receive that same special smile _only reserved for him_ and drown in it; the agony of a human's wants. He hated anything that took away his brother from him: the Military, the Truth, and once even _Winry._ He felt incredibly ashamed after the last one, remembering that this was their childhood friend. But still, the love in her eyes made Alphonse's blood boil.

And one other thing Alphonse added to his hate list; _doctors._

He knew that Winry's parents were doctors, and so was Pinako; he didn't hate them, because they were the ones that brought Brother back to him. But he hated these hospitals, the clinics, the look of fear that passed Edward's face when a needle came with in sight, the stoic facade of Mustang when Edward screamed and thrashed that he simply _wanted to bash the man's head in for hurting his brother-_

But he restrained himself, because that was what he taught himself to do, because what he really wanted to do was grab his brother and use the intimidation his armor gave to get them away, although he knew it was going to unacceptable.

Because Edward always had control of his life, of Alphonse's life...until he was admitted to the hospital.

Then it was the heart monitors, the oxygen mask, the rush and emergency doting of the nurses and surgeons, the needles stuck in his arms and body that kept him alive. It wasn't Edward working himself anymore, and that meant that it wasn't Alphonse working himself anymore.

Because it was Edward who was his pillar, who helped him stand up straight and look forward even though he never wanted to look that way again; it was Edward that reminded him that it was _them_ who were walking forward with their heads turned to the past.

But he was also scared, scared because hospitals meant that Edward was hurt. He was hurt, and he depended on someone else to fix him, and that person was not Alphonse. Scared, because if he was hurt bad enough, that meant Edward could die.

_Edward could die..._

_Edward could die..._

_Big brother could die..._

Edward was extremely hard to kill, as said by Colonel Mustang and the Fuhrer himself, but it didn't mean it wasn't possible. Because when big brother was on that bed, breathing in and out, his life was on someone else's line and that made Alphonse more scared than anything, because he was selfish and he always wanted his big brother to be there.

Because he wasn't going to allow _anyone _to take Edward away from him.

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	8. Part VIII

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_.P h o b o p h o b i a. _

_. _

_._

_The irrational fear of having a fear. _

_._

_._

He never believed in God.

He had stopped believing in ten, and stopped being a Catholic at twelve, because that was when he knew God had failed him; or perhaps it was the other way around? He had said, on many occasions, that there was once a hero; a hero on wax wings who could fly like the gods; yet his arrogance allowed him to think he could fly close to the sun, which caused his wax wings to melt, and he plunged into the sea beneath him.

It could be told that way. Edward also preferred the version where the hero never made it to the sun at all; in fact, it was the clouds that stopped him. Water from the condensed vapor washed the wax away, and then the hero _still_ plunged into the sea.

_In the end, _Edward thought cryptically, _the hero didn't make it._

He did not believe in a divine being, he didn't depend on something unseen to fix his life and make him live it through doting on one thing that caused so much pain. If there was a God, why was there war? If there was God, why were people dying? Why was there bloodshed, hatred, why was there massacres and riots and genocide if God was there watching over us and making sure if we were safe? Why wasn't the people - _the millions of people_ - that died given safety? Did God choose favorites?

Christians, Catholics, he believed they were all fools, idiots for thinking that there was someone up there that would help. That would actually care. Ha.

The bitter truth was something humanity couldn't take, Edward reasoned in the end, so they created something that would save them from their own images of horror and destruction; God was man made, as was heaven. Figments of a person's imagination, because there was no way something like that existed, that every saint would go there.

Humans were imperfect; they were constantly performing sins, they were constantly making mistakes.

And they always had to pay for it in the end; Equivalent Exchange. There was no God, because there was no divine being that would help him.

There was only the Truth, the cold, hard, bitter, Truth. It controlled everything; it took pleasure in the pain of people, it took pleasure of watching the lesser being squirm and shake and break apart. It laughed in the face of war and bloodshed, it glorified in catastrophe and chaos; it was wicked, it was evil, it was fair.

It was what made the universe work; it created life, destroyed life, it started the day and ended it, it made everything flow in a perfect circle, a never-ending heart beat and rhythm. For people to learn, they needed to make mistakes. For people to be humble, they needed despair. Everything was opposites, flowing together in an eternity of harmony.

He had stared into the depths of hell; he knew what awaited for the sinned, the damned, the saintly. It was all going to one destination, but what we do in the world fueled how much punishment we receive afterwards. He had gotten a taste, he had only seen barely the scrape of what was an endless dark hole.

The Truth was fear, it was despair and destiny, it was pain and hurt and resentment, it was hatred and anger and greed. It was what man feared the most, because they could not stand the fact that something as horrible as this was the only thing that waited for them, the only thing that would their ultimate demise.

Edward understood; one of the very few that did. He understand the cruelty of humans, he understood why the Homunculi despised him, he understood why the Truth was always creeping in his mind.

The Truth was his fear, the one thing that haunted him. He would see that wicked grin of a shapeless being in his dreams, the whiteness of something that would be your last taste of light. And then - then he remembered the Gate, the large, black, ornate doorway that led the path of insanity. He had walked albeit only one step, on the pavement that lasted a thousand miles. And he only wanted to stay on that one step; he wanted no more, no more, no more.

Yet he still had another path, carved out by another dark future. And on this one he took his steps slowly, each one more painful than the last. It was foggy, it was unclear and it was absolutely unreliable; it was fragile, like it could crack and fall at any minute.

It could disappear under his feet, but he was the man who stood on two feet when he had nothing to stand on and only one leg to do it on. Nothing was impossible for him, because for some _weird _reason, Truth had taken a liking to him. But he wouldn't fail the game he entered, he would go throughout until he got to his destination, he would. He would see through it all.

Even though he was in the place with no beginnings, no endings, no walls, no ceilings, no floors, no windows, no restrictions, no happiness, no uncertainty, and most importantly; _no way out._

But it didn't stop him from moving forward, because it was all he could do.

Move forward.

Forward to the End Which Didn't Exist. To the Place of No Return. To the Doorway That Should Never Be Opened. To the Despair of All Men.

To _hell. _

Because that was what Edward Elric feared the most: fear itself.

Yet, he would never forget it, because it was something that never could be forgotten.

.

.

_Don't Forget._

_3. Oct. 1911._

_._

_._

_Don't worry. We never will. _

_3. Oct. 2010. _

_._

_._


End file.
